


Demon Kisses: Punishment

by smilingcrescent



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon - Manga, Investigation, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, P4, Short, Teasing, not quite romance, public school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilingcrescent/pseuds/smilingcrescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ciel finds out that the P4 are going to be out of the Houses for an evening or so, he and Sebastian must make plans. However, his butler mockingly suggests a more personal approach. </p><p>Then: Ciel is framed for a bit of stolen property. Can Sebastian punish him properly in the eyes of the school? (Warning! Ciel is paddled by Sebastian. )</p><p>Excerpt: The students gather in droves. A public caning has the barbaric appeal of entertainment and school pride rolled into one; students can support the principal and satisfy their bloodlust all at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tooth and Tongue

_Kiss of a Demon._ )  
by smilingcrescent

Ciel licks his lips free of cream, presses his hands together, and flicks his tongue against his teeth. He leans forward at the boy’s off-handed comment, his elbows brushing the table. His fellow students recognize the change in his demeanor, but no one says much of anything.

“What was that?” he asks sharply. His eyes, like his tone, focus, though they can only _see_ the one. But before they reply, he drops his hands, folding them neatly on his lap. He covers the lapse in attention with a smile-- and with the childish mask back in place, he waits.

“...the P4 and their fags,” Gilbert Harvey, a boy from the countryside estates with no sense of hierarchy to Ciel’s way of thinking, explain readily enough. His cherubic face makes him seem younger yet, but he has a habit of squinting that masks any natural charm. “They’re leaving tomorrow for a special study, leaving their dorms’ next-in-charge behind. They’ll be busy packing the whole night!” he’s giddy with excitement.

The boy next to him, Albert Penn, drops his hands to his lap too, being playfully serious, but eagerness makes him blink rapidly. “I doubt the next-in charge will be as strict as the prefects.” He’s struggling to conceal a smile. “But...Professor Michaelis?” He asks in such a way that no _one_ thinks he’s marked out that final cat when the mice might play.

Harvey shrugs. “He’s usually busy before tests...what with all the tutoring. And normally with students who’ve gotten y’s or demerits.”

Ciel frowns slightly, and adds, “The upperclassmen who are being _left_ might be just as strict if they want the prefect’s spots next year. But if it’s a senior...” he allows a smile. “Then they may be well planning their own party.” He wonders briefly what to say about Sebastian, but decides this may be a subject he ought to keep from. No one should think he knows any more or any less about the new warden who came to the school _just_ before he did.

The boys all look at each other. Then they look at the rest of the House. Each one smiles, albeit for different reasons, and each one returns to his dessert.

* * *

Ciel opens the door to Sebastian’s study, first listening for signs of children’s voices and his butler's soft, slightly taunting tone. Not that one of the children would _notice_ his mocking.

Ciel coughs gently and walks with as much purpose as he can manage. He doesn’t bother with niceties; informing Sebastian was never something to shy from. “The prefects and their fags are off for special study tomorrow. See if it has anything to do with the case.”

Sebastian looks up from his spot by the bookcase. Of late, Ciel has begun to notice that he puts on an entirely different attitude when other students are looking—or at least, when they are being tutored. _Almost like…_ he thinks. _like my--_ but he breaks that thought off with a twist of his ring.

Sebastian’s manner changes back to that of a servant when he sees Ciel. Though he is a devil of one, to be true. He stands smoothly, straightens his clothes, and dispels a few “scholarly signs” from his being—small ink stains on his gloves and tiny wrinkles around his eyes. The way he holds himself is more proper than before; as the manservant of an earl should be.

“Yes,” Sebastian says in reply. His attentive manner is nearly perfect, except for the smile that quirks his lips. He waits a beat before continuing, “If I may?”

Ciel walks across the study, assuming position in one of the large, bulky seats. He crosses his feet at the ankles and nods curtly. “On with it.” His voice carries his impatience, and a bare hint of regret. All these things Sebastian perceives in his tone and in the way he _looks_ into his eyes.

“The boys will be with a member of the staff from the meeting. I’ve taken the liberty of investigating. This little venture seems quite benign; they’re meeting with a scholar to assist their studies.” He pauses. “Of course, I can check in on them upon occasion if the young master wishes it.” 

Ciel purses his lips, considering. “I need to know what they’re up to, so, yes.” He taps his finger on the armrest, his eyes downcast as he considers his next instruction. 

Before he can start the orders, however, Sebastian leans forward, bringing their faces closer. He rests a pale hand on Ciel’s shoulder, rubs a small circle from the base of Ciel’s neck to the tense spot above Ciel’s shoulder-blade. His hands are strong and pleasant, but the proximity—his lips—distracts all thought of words or orders right out of his head.

Color spreads across Ciel’s cheeks and his shoulders tense all the more. Sebastian clucks his tongue with a stern, disapproving look made sly and mocking on his devilishly handsome face. “Don’t tense up so. Your shoulders will ache for days, little master. Relax.” He tilts his head, frowning. “I can’t have you straining yourself, not on top of everything else.”

Ciel scoffs trying to hide just how much the gesture startled him. “Tense shoulder is hardly something I need to worry about.” Lifting his chin stubbornly, he seems at last to ignore the proximity. He does not flinch away this time. “I should like as much legwork done tonight as is feasible.” His gestures bring them closer yet. He’ll bump his cheek to Sebastian’s lips, it seems.

But he turns his head, retaining the appropriate distance. Instead of panicked surprise, amusement (and what might be called domineering control on another person) transforms his face. He looks so like his father then, but with his mother’s features.

With a nobleman’s grace, Sebastian nods. He touches Ciel’s cheek—turning it slightly to the side. He says nothing, and his lips spread to show teeth and tongue. “But of course.” He repeats. “Before this is done, I’m afraid we might wish to review…Some of your finer skills are in need of tutoring.” With that, he draws away, but his hands return to the dance and play of massage.

Ciel puts one hand on Sebastian’s and guides it away. He has anger on his tongue, and a child’s lingering fear in the set of his chin. But his words are soft and controlled, as is befitting a young earl. “I believe we could talk of these things.” He says gently, more than he ought be able. “But I need _no_ demonstration, Sebastian. I’ll not learn romance from a demon.”

Sebastian straightens, delicately raising an eyebrow “Romance, young lord?” Sebastian’s polite expression breaks apart as he begins to laugh—to snicker. He doubles over, two pristine gloved hands over his long, red mouth.

“Why are you laughing?” Irked, Ciel flushes with as much anger as embarrassment.

“I meant your spying, young master. You hardly need many romance skills, considering you already have a fiancé. Spying and code. But if you so desire, I can teach you how to charm a woman, and how to kiss.” He moves again closer so that Ciel can feel his warmth.

“Teach me your spying, Sebastian, but I’ve _no need_ for any sort of—”

Sebastian touches a finger to Ciel’s lips. The boy—at last—stops talking. “Then imagine there is a young lady.” He slides his finger across Ciel’s bottom lip. “Or a young man…who would _love_ to have a moment alone with you.”

As this sinks in, Ciel shakes his head resolutely. Stubborn as a cat, and as unwilling to give affection.

With another click of the tongue, Sebastian removes his finger. “For certain people…wouldn’t romance be the better way to receive that information?”

Ciel scoffs, a smug expression disguising any other emotions he might be feeling. “So you _were_ speaking of romance, after all.”

“On the contrary.” Sebastian looks up, meeting Ciel’s gaze coolly. “You have two workable aspects of your character. Haughty, intelligent earl,” he pauses to bring attention to Ciel’s bearing, and to the ring on his finger. “And a quiet, hardworking _child_. Occasionally sweet.” He rearranges Ciel to his preferred school-boy posture. “I think you could do with a few extra acts…”

Glowering now, Ciel snaps. “Are you saying that I only have _two_ sides? I should thi—”

Sebastian shakes his head. “But no, little master. You have other ways. Secret from the eyes of your peers and even the queen—plotting, vengeful Phantomhive, for example. I didn’t mean to cheapen your tantalizing charms.” Sebastian chuckles again. “Merely to point out that you have two public faces.” He brushes a stray lock of hair away from Ciel’s eye with one hand and gently raises Ciel’s chin with the other.

Ciel’s breath catches in his throat. Memories of being trapped, being stared at—being _used_ by people _with much less gentle hands_ \-- pile up in his mind, competing for attention. Disgust, anger, and fear are all strong, all first to surface.

Underneath, a confused-- _shameful_ \-- curiosity.

And softer, gentler memories of Mother, Aunt Anne, tousling his hair. Affectionate touch is something he rarely has the chance to experience since…

Ciel slaps Sebastian’s hand away. “I won’t play a romantic game to get information. I did fine with the Viscount, didn’t I?”

Sebastian takes a step back, and stands up straighter before giving a deep bow. “Please forgive my intrusion.” He keeps his face down, but Ciel is certain he’s smiling.  
Sebastian has played his final card for this gamble, and he waits for Ciel to make the next move. To tell him of the things they need do; to work out the plan for spying on the prefects. Ciel does not disappoint. 

Sebastian waits with his hand to his chest, listening to the little lordling, thinking of his soft skin. His bright eyes. And the arrogance and anger that binds the boy to him yet.

Sebastian bides his time knowing that all things will pass…

And when the end comes, he will smile thus:

showing teeth and tongue.

For that is the prelude to a demon’s kiss.


	2. In the Eyes of the School: Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when Ciel is blamed for Maurice's stolen property, Sebastian is called into an unusual situation...can he administer proper punishment to his young master?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: not really any for this chapter. Eventual sensual-ized scenes of punishment, (chapter 4) so...I recommend reading another fic if you're squeamish about that.
> 
> there will be 4 more chapters to this "arc" within the manga school-fic universe. I think this one won't run away with me like other stories I could mention... Um. Yeah. ♥

“What do you want with my room?” Ciel smiles awkwardly, calling on his ‘innocent first year mask’ to pull him through—even though he was caught sneaking around after hours.  
  
It’s past hours when students are allowed out of their dorms, but there’s a small group of boys in uniform. Each has a serious expression, and holds his shoulders square.  
  
One young man in particular has an air of offended dignity, and he wears the blue of the house. Another boy has an expression of outrage, and the trembling fingers to match. He would have it seem as distress, but Ciel recognizes it as excitement.  
  
“My letter opener is missing!” Maurice pouts. He rubs his eyes as though he had just woken up, but his impeccable makeup suggests he hasn’t really gone to sleep at all. “It’s worth quite a lot. And who else could have taken it when _you’re_ the only one we found lurking around after hours?” His voice is biting, and barely under a shout. He doesn’t want to wake anyone.  
  
Ciel frowns. “I hardly need your letter-opener, ” he scoffs with a hint of arrogance, backing against the wall and folding his arms.  
  
But Lawrence Bluer nods stiffly, granting permission to enter the dorm rooms.  
  
Inside, a boy gives a surprised yelp. “What—what is it? Was there a fire?” McMillan gasps, poking his head out of the washroom in the hall. He tries to make his way back to their shared dorm room, but it does not quite work.  
  
Like a pair of dogs, the students are all  on edge. Another red student whose name Ciel isn’t familiar with shakes his head firmly. But once the prefect and these others are in, they gather a small crowd. Lawrence frowns severely.  
  
“ _I’ll_  do the search,” Bluer insists, holding a hand to stop Maurice at Ciel’s door.  
  
Ciel peers into his own room, his eyes scanning for anything amiss. At first, everything seems in place. His desk is orderly, bottles of ink, the pen in its stand…but then he sees it. The book he’d been reading was on the opposite side.  Instead of being on the right side of his sewing box, it was on the left, by the pens. And when Bluer opens the top drawer, sure enough, there is a letter opener.  
  
Ciel frowns and snaps. “That was planted! I most certainly did _not_  take that.” After a moment, he remembers his ‘child act.’ He pouts and pulls at his sleeves.  
  
“Hah. But you recognize it? And everyone knows you’re against me. It’s like some kind of sport with you—”  
  
It’s hard to be sweet when Maurice keeps being so irritating.  
  
“Don’t be absurd!” Ciel shakes his head stiffly. “In any case, how did you notice something was missing if I supposedly stole it _now?_ ”  
  
Maurice flushes. “It’s _been_  missing. You took it before and were out for someone else’s belongings too, for all I know.”  
  
“Someone put it in my desk,” Ciel points out. “Things have been moved around. McMillan probably even heard whoever did it—” Ciel turns to look at McMillan, but the first year is staring wide-eyed at Ciel.  
  
“I d-didn’t even know you left. What are you doing out at this hour?” McMillan stutters. He looks frantically from one boy to the next.  
  
From the hallway, a shadow looms. The boys all fall quiet, and a few turn their faces toward the blocked light. Professor Michaelis stands like a quiet raven.  
  
“I’m afraid that _is_  the question.” The voice is as familiar to Ciel as his own. Sebastian stands, clad in a teacher’s regalia and peering closely at the students. For a moment, he is reserved, cold and uncaring for the boys in his care. But with an adjustment to his glasses, he manages a disapproving look.  
  
As Sebastian holds a lantern with the tips of his fingers, it sends a ghost of light across his features. “What are two Reds doing in the Blue Dormitory?”  
  
Just as he says it, there’s a pattering of feet on the floorboards, and Edgar Redmond comes into the room. “Sir, I heard—”  
  
“Professor!” McMillan’s eyes brighten with needy hope.  
  
Sebastian looks around the room, taking in Maurice's aggressive body language and Ciel’s faint hint of nerves. The heady scent of a plot in execution, and Ciel is (as ever) in the center of it. “Explain the situation, Bluer.”  
  
Bluer nods dutifully. He looks at neither student party. “I found Phantomhive wandering the halls.”  
  
“Sneaking back in from Red, you mean.” Maurice interjects. “I heard him—”  
  
“Heeh. Before you said you noticed it missing,” Ciel says dryly. He has regained enough of his composure to counterattack Maurice’s defense.  
  
“Mr. Phantomhive. Mr. Cole.” Sebastian’s tone is firm, but still rebuking. He motions for Bluer to continue, and his deep red eyes flicker closed.  
  
“And after I found him, sir, Cole and his…companion, I’m afraid I don’t know his name, came up and told me his letter opener was missing. We came in to check.”  
  
“And it seems that the missing knife was indeed here.” Sebastian sighs; fixing each boy with a look that recalls a sneer. “And Mr. Redmond? You came to the dorms after hours. Please explain your presence.” Sebastian steps purposefully towards the desk and picks up the letter opener. He turns it over in his hands, checking the make and the markings.  
  
“I heard someone walking around after hours and got up to investigate. A few students were talking about Maurice…I discovered that he left the House, and so I followed, sir.” He bows slightly in apology.  
   
“Did you hear someone as well?” Sebastian’s eyes flick from the ‘stolen property’ to Ciel, a dark look of amusement barely flickers across his features. Flickering candlelight catches his eyes so that they glow fiercely. But the light passes, and once again he looks like Professor Michaelis, concerned and disapproving as any teacher ought be.  
  
“There was a knock on my door. When I opened it, I only barely saw someone running away.”  
  
“That would hardly have been me,” Ciel points out, as uncomfortable and embarrassed as a first year knows how. “This is a setup,” he declares, frowning when no one meets his gaze.  
  
“Nevertheless, I’m afraid you were breaking curfew, and you are in fact in possession of another student’s property.” The professor shakes his head. “I’m afraid there must be consequences, Mr. Phantomhive. Mr. Cole, Mr. Donner and Mr. Marlow, expect to be called to the vice principal’s office.  Mr. Cole, the warden of the red house and myself will have words with you then, whereupon your letter opener will be returned.” Michaelis looks to Bluer and Redmond, his lips a thin line. “Prefects can expect a meeting as well. You are all dismissed.”  
  
The students file meekly out of the room. Sebastian lights the candle by Ciel’s bed so that the boys will not be left in darkness, and turns to leave without a word. His robes flutter behind him like a black cloud.  
  
And he steps out, with no more noise than the whisper of his cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So~ do you like this new one? :D I could be persuaded to update very quickly if there's enough interest. Hehe. Reviews are shiny new toys to play with and polish- you can imagine Sebastian polishing and arranging them, all neat in a pretty box.


	3. The Sentence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel is sentenced by the Deputy Principal.

“You’re going to _get_ it.” Cole whispers fiercely. “Do you know the rules and punishment for stealing, Phantomhive?” A cruel smile tugs at his painted lips. _Birch whip._  he mouths.  
  
Ciel pretends not to hear, not to see. Lined up with Cole, Doyle, and Marrow, he waits for the Red and Blue wardens and the Deputy Principal to finish lecturing the prefects.  
  
“You have a responsibility to all the students safety,” Professor Michaelis is saying, his voice low and carrying.  
  
Ciel resists the urge to tap his fingers, to sit down to wait in bored indifference. He’d usually adopt this stance at home in his manner.  
  
“—strict policy against burglary and sneaking about after hours.” The deputy headmaster intones, his voice grave with disapproval. “You yourselves must protect the rules to set an example for the other students.”  
  
A chorus of, “Yes sir,” announces the end of the lecture. The P4 files out of the office. Bluer gives Ciel a measuring look, though the others stare past him.  
  
Maurice holds his chin high, expecting Redmond to give him a look of concern or disapproval (Ciel isn’t sure which he expects). But Maurice is disappointed; Redmond looks past each boy awaiting punishment, looking only ahead at the line of framed portraits on the wall.  
  
Under the eyes of previous headmasters or because of the public shunning, Maurice’s expression turns sour.  
  
“Phantomhive, Cole, Marlow. And Doyle, I see.” The deputy headmaster towers over the boys. “Come in.” The solemn, forbidding tone is lessened only by the deputy headmaster hitting his temple on the doorframe.  
  
The wardens stand like sentinels before the headmaster’s desk.  
  
“Relate last night’s events again, Professor Michaelis.”  
  
“Yes, sir. Some students knocked on Bluer’s door. He didn’t see their faces. Bluer discovered Phantomhive wandering about the halls without explanation. Shortly after, Phantomhive was apprehended. He and Mister Cole, Mister Doyle, and Mister Marlow entered the dorm, claiming they thought stolen property to be in Phantomhive’s possession. He had nothing on him, so the party went to his bedroom. The stolen property, that letter opener, sir, was found in his desk. Finally, Redmond came in, explaining that some students from his house were there. I sent them all to bed without issuing punishment.”  
  
Mr. Agares looks at the errant students with an expression of sincere displeasure. He seems to look past the boys, and then he clenches his eyes shut. Ciel isn’t sure if it’s the pain of his clumsiness or some teacherly emotions.  
  
“Mister Cole and company, you are charged with writing rule number thirty in regards to curfew two hundred times. I expect a reflection on your actions as well.” He levels his gaze on Ciel. “You as well, Mister Phantomhive.” His stern gaze does not waver.  
  
Maurice looks at the floor, and coughs lightly. He raises his eyes only, goading the deputy principal on.  
  
“In addition, you will submit to public caning. It is the penalty for theft, as you should know by now. Five strokes, and a fine of two pounds.”  
  
Ciel drops his gaze and mutters the appropriate apology. Disregarding his character for a moment, he does not allow for a tremor or a quake in his voice. “I understand, sir.” When he raises his head, he sees Sebastian’s dour expression melt into a faint smile.  
  
He meets Ciel’s gaze, and nods once. “Sir, in light of Phantomhive’s protest that there was no proof behind—”  
  
The Deputy Principal holds up his hand. “I’m afraid not. In the principal’s name, we must uphold the rules. If a young man was creeping about like a thief in the dark, then perhaps a thief he is. We should teach him most strictly. If he is not, he should guard his time more effectively, and keep his door locked. He must uphold his honor, and the honor of the school, by behaving in the manner of a gentleman.”  
  
Maurice grins wickedly, transforming his charming, polished features to a gremlin’s mask. The boy is absolutely delighted.  
  
“‘I do not believe our Queen would wish us to uphold a system completely devoid of faith or legal procedure,’” Sebastian quotes.  
  
Ciel’s head whips up, and he stares at Sebastian. His puzzled expression must be obvious, and Sebastian chuckles without humor.  
  
“Don’t be angry, Mister Agares…”   _Young master…_  “I’m merely repeating what his prefect, Mister Lawrence Bluer, wished to say.”  
  
Ciel stares in stony silence. He exits without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?
> 
> ALSO: I am a research dork. In 1882, 2 pounds was the cost of a “weekday suit.” Compare to “Wife Dress per year” 35 pounds, 8 shillings, 4 pennies. According to: victorianweb.org/economics/wages4.html . “Mr. Patterson (site owner) found the following information on the cost of living in England in 1888 in an article entitled "Life on a Guinea a Week" in The Nineteenth Century (1888), p. 464.”


	4. That Time (The Punishment)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian takes the paddle to Ciel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit fanatical on researching stuff, tho, and discovered that caning under the hands of the right person can literally send flesh flying, so I opted for a softer punishment-- the paddle. ♥ Didn't think anyone'd mind.

The students gather in droves. A public caning has the barbaric appeal of entertainment and school pride rolled into one; students can support the principal and satisfy their bloodlust all at once. 

Ciel is hardly surprised by the numbers of them. He’s known the depth of human depravity for more than two years now. He’s more appalled at the faculty decision to make his punishment everyone’s entertainment. It’s too barbaric to bear thinking about.

When the Red House’s warden comes to check with Sebastian, he finally edges into the crowd’s line of sight. He holds his chin high—there’s no alternative when his pride’s been cut so low. 

The wardens’ heads are bent close together, and a few words are exchanged. Then, Sebastian takes a hesitant step forward, his face a mix of concern and stately displeasure. He is truly a fox amongst hens, but none seem to notice his disguise.

He holds a hand out, beckoning Ciel forward. He removes his glasses. In that moment, he is surely a devil in the flesh—his teeth glint as he opens his mouth to speak. “Young master,” he breathes. “It is time.”

All at once, the Deputy Principal Agares springs onto stage.

There is a loud _thump_ as he trips over his feet, landing to rest just before the structure Ciel would soon be meant to lean upon. “Wardens…” he gasps, stumbling to his feet. “There has been a change…” he presses one hand to his forehead. “Ciel Phantomhive is to be _paddled_ five times with this, not the cane…” he wheezes.

The Red Warden nods stiffly without saying anything.

 

Sebastian smiles. “Thank you for considering this accession.” He bows, replaces the willowy cane, and accepts the paddle from the Deputy Principal. Finally, he takes a few steps forward, and moves to the appointed spot. 

Ciel wonders if anyone can hear him, can see him well. The paddling is to take place in the space between lecture halls and a small platform that has been raised.

He takes one look at the gathered crowd from where they can see him, shoulders set, chin high. He bites his lip once, playing at their sympathy. 

_The rumor mill should have it out that I stole nothing. Even the P4 believe me—this won’t…set back my plans._ he swallows. I think. As he stands there, he realizes the golden haired boy to be his opponent, Maurice. He looks as smug as the king of a tiny empire.

Professor Michaelis, severe in his duty, is as grave as a specter. He gestures again, and instructs Ciel before the stand. “Drop your trousers, Mister Phantomhive, and rest your weight there.”

Ciel’s pink lips stand out against his pallor. He nods, and walks forward, unconsciously falling into an old routine. He extends his hands for Sebastian to take his coat and shirt, expecting Sebastian to be his loyal servant and butler even when he is about to humiliate him in front of his peers.

The supposed professor chuckles softly. He accepts Ciel’s coat, folding it with expert ease, and carries it to the side while Ciel fusses with his trouser buttons. At last, he returns to accept the last of the layers. He is severe in his final assessment, and the boy trembles only faintly under his gaze.

Unlike that time and those men, Sebastian doesn’t touch Ciel more than necessary. He brushes Ciel’s skin lightly, and the flutter of fingers across gooseflesh, vaguely familiar to a hundred domestic scenes in his bedchamber, and yet singular in intensity.

Here, bent over to reveal his bare skin, he remembers another day. A colder day, with only his pride and strips of cloth to clothe him, on a bare cage he was never intended to have escaped. He closes his eyes, though he does not wish to.

‘Professor Michaelis’ soft fingered touch, so strange without gloves, reminds him of phantom hands, rough and abrasive against his skin, on his shoulders and torso. He shudders, and before the paddle even strikes, his heart speeds.

“—charged with theft—” the Red House warden is addressing the crowd. Ciel doesn’t listen.

He remembers.

Dizzy with fear and nerves, he can feel hot kisses, rendered fowl and rotten with ill-intent. They are beasts on his memory, with their slobber and wanton cries.

In human men, this kind of passion longs for spirits and other intoxicants. It brings to mind Bacchus, the god of wine and folly, of shallow self-restraint. Sebastian knows how Ciel hates this aspect of man. How he seeks to deny it. At the same time, he sees Ciel writhe under his blows, even while his pride would have it otherwise. He watches as Ciel unconsciously leans away from the paddle, but his hands, a Family ring on each, keep him firmly to the assigned position.

Finally, as his vision clears and he can see the platform again. Sebastian walks forward, as impassive as he can be. Ciel can’t seem to bring Sebastian’s face into focus, but still, his presence is in sharp, real, compared to that memory. His manner is at the height of propriety.

“I will administer exactly five strikes, Master Phantomhive.” He motions for Ciel to resume the (submissive, so very submissive) posture.

_I will not give in._

One last look, and Ciel turns away.

Everything fades away into _that time._ His ears echo with moans—so very like the braying of hounds in heat. The frenzied pack is all attuned to his fall. His human tormenters are worse than demons, on him again, again. With cruel hands and—

—the first strike reverberates through his whole body. For a moment, there is no pain. Then, as Sebastian waits those few seconds to prepare again, the feeling returns in a rush. It stings, then smarts, then near burns.

Ciel feels all sensations on his skin too sharply. He looks to Sebastian, and barely recognizes the cool, distant man. His burning eyes take in all. Ciel holds his breath.

_It hurts._

Sebastian watches Ciel. He does not acknowledge when the boy glances his way, doesn’t even offer a smile. He pushes his satisfaction aside—for he is pleased. What demon wouldn’t be, to at last hold the chains? The devices of punishment? For satisfaction is primal and deep-seeded as pride can be.

Sebastian is ice, compared to the lusty heat of his memories; Sebastian is removed, while They are self-absorbed. Sebastian thinks only of the feelings aroused in Ciel.

Sebastian too remembers _That night_ \-- the events that lie between them. It has been so long since Sebastian tasted regret this strong, pain so raw and yet so pale between them.

There is strength in him, too. Ciel Phantomhive, the boy child who would rule him. The boy whose soul is always in sight, but just out of reach…

Ahhh, such stubborn pride. Such dedication to finding his enemies.

Sebastian coolly administers another blow. “Nearly done, little master…” he murmurs.

It shouldn’t surprise Ciel, when the pain blossoms again. But when Sebastian speaks to him, he remembers his hands.

The waiting is maddening. It’s interspersed with pain. The burn of impact, like scolding of water, slowly spreads. Sebastian administered two more blows that reverberated loudly in the room.

Then, Sebastian is laughing. Chuckling, really, low and soft, so only Ciel can hear.

“Ah, but is it the last already?”

Ciel braces himself.

Instead of the cruel blow he expects, Sebastian’s fingers—then his palm, stroke his shoulder. “It’s over, young master.” Is it his imagination, or is there affection in his tone?

Ciel straightens, and then rises unsteadily. His back is a mass of soreness, and he turns awkwardly. The mass of students continue to stare, noting his pallor, the way he curls his stiff, white fingers. They see how he steps with care not to stretch his affected muscles.

In contrast, their faces are flushed, and their eyes bright. Maurice, especially. He near simpers, and nods in satisfaction.

Ciel turns away, and allows for Sebastian to drape his shirt across his shoulders. He seems frail under the weight, and walks unsteadily forward. He allows for a small shake, a change in his posture, and takes a small sigh, and gives a tiny smile.

He does not apologize. He simply walks away.

Sebastian, posing again as Professor Michaelis, puts a hand on Ciel’s waist. “Please follow me back to the dormitories. I shall tend your wounds.”

Ciel nods, and manages a short walk out of sight with little mishap. Sebastian helps him back into his trousers, wincing when the material comes into contact with his tender bottom. When the eyes of his peers have left him, he raises his chin. “Take me back now, Sebastian,” he orders.

With a widening smile, Sebastian obliges, taking the little earl into his arms.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...tbc...(the last part is my favorite! "Comforting" after all the hurt.)


	5. His Butler, comforting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian just set a paddle to his young master. Can he make things up to Ciel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, Ciel was not paddled on the back because one's spine could be injured. The common place for such punishment is actually the butt. 
> 
> Being caned was an authentic Victorian punishment, and one that you can read about if you search google. However, under the right hands, such punishment leaves scars. You can read about this by looking up "corporal punishment" and "caning" in google.
> 
> I think Ciel would not like Sebastian to do that, and I don't know if Sebastian could hold back enough, so~ I switched to the paddle.
> 
> Warnings: none. Just Sebastian being himself while he tries to comfort Ciel.

**The Punishment:** _his butler, comforting._

* * *

 

Ciel wants to rest; to be out of the eyes of his curious peers.

Soma moves out of the throng, wide-eyed and indignant on Ciel's behalf. "Ci~el~!" he whines. "Are you alright?" He slides in next to Sebastian, who still carries the Earl.

"I just felt a little faint," Ciel mutters, fidgeting in Sebastian's arms. "I can walk, professor."

Sebastian gently sets the boy on his feet, careful not to touch his bottom.

Soma nearly unbalances Ciel, he hugs him so hard. "I had no idea you English were so…so…!" he flounders for words. "Mean!"

"If you could, Mister Kadāru, Mister Phantomhive needs some air." Professor Michaelis looks meaningfully at the older boy, but well-meaning Blues and less-well-meaning, curious students swiftly overtake Ciel. "That goes for you as well, Mister McMillan."

Ciel tries to regain his composure, to walk without a limp, and to hide his conflicting feelings. But his pale face and shaking hands tell just as much as his unsteady gait.

"Ciel, are you alright?"

"Please...just don't mention it..." Ciel mutters, and turns away.

Sebastian, posing again as the unfailable Professor, smiles gently. "Allow me to tend your wounds."

Ciel imagines that Sebastian's gloved hands are almost cooler than the water. The gentle application of a cold towel irritates his abused skin, but he is still.

Sebastian had taken his master to the warden's rooms rather than Ciel's room. The emptiness of the warden's bedroom is the same as the butler's room in the Phantomhive manner. It is full of professional items, and nothing personal. For all Ciel knows, Sebastian feels no special attachment for any material item; Sebastian seems to only see value in things invisible to the human eye.

"And now for a bit of arnica for the redness and pain and some clean bandages, and all will be well."

As always, Sebastian is professional, expert in any service he offers. Ciel shivers at his touch. He lowers his face into the covers, gingerly shifting his thighs. He winces as Sebastian applies a cold drop of the herbal remedy. Finally he settles sighs into the fabric, and allows his eyes to close.

Sebastian looks on, smiling softly. He bends down to stroke Ciel's hair. He says nothing, merely watching the boy.

"Did you really have to hit me, Sebastian?" Ciel's voice is muffled by the pillow.

"Ah, but wasn't your punishment deserved, little master?" His long fingers cup the child's face. "Naughty children should be punished." His smile is faintly curved, and his teeth show in points.

Ciel makes a noncommittal, dismissive noise. "Get me something to drink."

"Yes, my lord."

Ciel half sleeps in Sebastian's covers, images of fabric and toy designs combining with half fogged memories of the crowd. Sebastian's soft footsteps rouse him.

Ciel accepts the drink with little fuss. It is a warm cup of milk…the nostalgia of it is striking. "…there's honey," he murmurs.

Sebastian merely allows the tray to fall to his side. He watches Ciel drink, wordless.

"…how long until this stops _smarting_ so?"

"A few days at most, I should say," Sebastian remarks coolly. "Avoid sitting for long periods of time, or it will be quite uncomfortable…also, bending over may be out."

Ciel snorts. "Don't be crass."

Sebastian chuckles. "Just be glad it wasn't a caning. Those marks would scar."

Ciel grumbles. "Thank you." With one hand, he clutches the cup, and with the other, he props his chin, supporting his weight most childishly. "…but I would have been _most_ displeased if you actually put a cane to—" he swallows. "If you had caned me."

Sebastian chuckles. "Would you have been?" he smiles.

Ciel does not reply. Instead, he finishes the drink, and allows his head to fall back to the covers.

"Are you all right, young master?" Sebastian's eyes glitter in the dim light.

Ciel looks away. "Of course I am. It was nothing." _Nothing compared to…._

Sebastian again interrupts those thoughts. Ciel turns to him, his eyes half open.

"I thought you might lose consciousness," Sebastian says slowly. He stands straight, the silver tray resting at his side. "It was almost as though you were…" he pauses, and Ciel sees a hint of red between parted lips. Sebastian's smile is cruel, taunting. But his tone is almost affectionate. "Experiencing certain emotions."

Ciel imagines he can see smoke and fire in those eyes. That, and a desperate, greedy hunger. He shivers.

"I felt nothing but humiliation." Ciel's cheeks burn. He presses his lips together, eyeing Sebastian with a particular intensity. "I went through with it. I have retained my disguise…and those fools will underestimate me again and again because of it."

Sebastian says nothing. He doesn't need to.

"My family has always been able to retain a sense of honor and… aesthetics…that even you could appreciate." He sniffs.

"Ah, but I could see the sigh…the way you turned your head." Sebastian tilts his chin, regarding the boy quietly. "I can almost taste it…the memories…the fear."

Ciel's eyes are hard. "I do not fear you, Sebastian. I will give you what is promised. That's all you care for, and you will not…defy…or defile…our contract." His eyes are large orbs of light and reflection. One behind a leather patch and ribbon tie, and the other clear for any to see.

If Ciel was afraid, then it was of…the past. Of a memory that he cannot fend off.

"Of course, my lord. You put on a brilliant performance befitting your disguise. It would be inappropriate for you to have been feeling anything beyond what you meant to show." Sebastian's face is blank, lacking his customary smirk. It is this detail that makes Ciel think that he is being mocked.

Sebastian knows, as he always does what complex, twisted emotions Ciel feels in regard to that time.

At last he smiles, carefully hiding his teeth and tongue.

Ciel shivers, and pulls the covers close. Ciel doesn't like lies (except those he tells himself), but still he pretends. He imagines that he is being cared for by his trusted butler, all the while knowing that it is a demon's bed, a demon's touch he relies on. Seeks out. Trusts more than any other.

Alone in his dorm room that night, Ciel dreams. He dreams of Sebastian's touch, dreams of promises and sweet, soothing words. He smiles gently, mockingly, and rocks Ciel in his arms.

"You're a demon." His voice is cold, flat. "You will smile when I die. You aren't human," he whispers to Sebastian. After a length of quiet, where Sebastian breathes softly, barely audible to his young lord, Ciel murmurs sleepily. "You don't love me." He lies, stiff and cold, the bruises burning like fire across his backside.

But Sebastian, unheeding, continues to hold him long into the night. When the boy slept, it was fitfully. The boy was restless, and now pained; he would wake every few hours, uncomfortable and at odds in his skin. Sebastian soothes and pets him, setting his quiet mind to his master's dilemma. He watches the boy sleep, unaware of Ciel's thoughts and dreams.

Once, when Ciel stirs, Sebastian leans in toward him. "Sleep now," Sebastian half sings. Ciel's eyes flutter.

"…no…" Ciel murmurs. He is only half aware, and will not remember Sebastian's words in the morning.

There, in the dark of the bedroom, Sebastian whispers back, a quiet, heavy _nothing_ that would mean more if Ciel were awake to hear it.

But Ciel sleeps on, his face knotted with concern.

"I have you." Sebastian smiles. The simple truth, disguised by propriety and quiet amusement intertwined, leave his lips like a feather falling.

Dainty and black.

For Ciel's demon of a butler can tell no lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (fin)
> 
> thoughts?
> 
> …this is the end this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you can let me know what parts of my writing worked for you, and maybe what didn't. Hope you continue to enjoy my other works!


End file.
